The Alchemy of Forever Read Online Free PDF Page A

blink them back.
    “My sensitive Seraphina.” She pushes my hair back and holds her palm to my icy cheek for a moment. “I will see the new you soon enough.”
    I swallow hard as the bartender places a full glass of red wine in front of me. I pick it up and make my way through the crowd toward Cyrus and the girl. When I’m confident no one is looking, I flick open my poison ring and, in one practiced movement, dump its contents into the glass. Then I stride forward, catching Cyrus’s eye. He looks pleased.
    I feel a flash of sadness for him. Cyrus, my alchemist love, the one who made magic real, the one who lives for illusion, who says, Yes, the fire only burns violet for you, Seraphina. Cyrus, who grips me so tightly I feel like I’m choking, who made me a killer, who would rather kill me himself than lose me. He’s told me so, many times. But after tonight, I’ll be gone—and for the first time in hundreds of years, we’ll both be alone.

four
     
    I walk toward Cyrus, my strides matching the incessant thump of the music. My heart hammers in my chest, and I am careful not to let the wine slosh over the edge of the glass. I don’t look at it, knowing from long experience that I am more graceful when I don’t try to be. Trust yourself, Sera. Don’t think, just act.
    “Hi, I’m Sera,” I say to the girl, handing Cyrus his wine and taking her hand in mine. She’s stunningly beautiful, with rich, espresso-colored hair and warm brown eyes framed by inky lashes. A rosy flush on her prominent cheekbones sets off the light olive hue of her skin. Apart from our coloring, we could be sisters.
    “I’m Claudia,” she responds, with a hint of a German accent. “Cyrus tells me you’re a photographer?”
    Cyrus catches my eye, urging me to follow his lead. “I was telling Claudia about the photo shoot you’re working on—you’re still casting models, right?”
    “Right—yes, we’re still looking.” The girl is watching me with hopeful, innocent eyes, and I picture how this night could progress in some alternate reality. We’d go upstairs and talk. I’d draw her in, build her trust in me, tell her about the months I spent in Munich and about Café Frischut, my favorite coffee shop there, until she came willingly to my arms. My cold mouth would close over hers and in a flash of violet light, I would feel a surge of power and claim her body for my own.
    Suddenly my resolve slips. My soul may be ready to die, but there is a part of me that only knows how to keep living, no matter the cost. I can still change my mind, I think. I can take her body, find Charlotte and dance with her, lose myself in the unrelenting music. I can go home with Cyrus. I can stay his.
    But then I look at Claudia, at the way she nervously twirls the marcasite ring on her index finger, and remember exactly why I must hold firm.
    Cyrus takes a sip of wine and furrows his brow. “Is this the Pinot Noir?” he asks. My heart starts to slam in my chest—I can’t decide if I’m more terrified that he’ll taste the sedative, or that he won’t.
    “No,” I reply as innocently as possible, “the Cabernet.”
    He takes another sip. “It’s good,” he says, flashing me a dazzling smile.
    “It’s so loud down here.” I turn to Claudia. “Why don’t we go somewhere more private, where we can talk about the shoot?” Cyrus tips the wineglass to his lips again, and I silently will him to slow down. I’ve got to get him out of here before the powder takes effect.
    “Yes, that would be fantastic,” she agrees. I lead them to the back of the club, where a heavy green-velvet drape obscures a stairway.
    “There’s a private lounge up here.” I glance behind me. The girl is sure-footed, confident, while Cyrus misses a step and nearly drops his glass. But hundreds of years of existing in human bodies have granted us an effortless, feline grace, and he recovers easily.
    The walls of the stairwell are lined with jade-and-gold-striped